Life and It's Routine
by TenebrisCor
Summary: Danny has always been a creature of habit, but sometimes the monotony of life becomes a wee bit ridiculous. [Rated T to be on the cautious side.]


Revised: Thu. May 1, 2014

* * *

Sometimes, I wonder about life.

It can be damned difficult at times, and then it turns worse.

Then, of course, there are the days where I feel like I am on top of the world. Where nothing matters, and I am just without a care.

Those are the days to live for.

But, when it comes down to it, we all have to live with those days where life is simple hell on earth. Where nothing goes right, and everything seems to be against you.

Because when it comes down to it, we are all the Devil's got to play with, and he so loves to play with his toys.

—

"Danny! Son! You have to come down to breakfast. School is in 20 minutes young man!"

This was one of those mornings, he could feel it in his bones.

As they ached, the young Danny Fenton groaned as he forced himself out of his cramped position.

He had only gotten home late last night, and he was forever grateful for his sister and her word manipulation. How she got his parents to believe everything she said was beyond him.

Glancing at his alarm clock, he could not suppress the moan that made its way through his lips. He would be late for school. Again.

A seemingly endless cycle, and one that his parents were getting thoroughly tired of.

He could not quite prevent his late nights, at least not so long as he cared for his town.

Hell, he might even be tempted to quit his unofficial job if it wasn't for his family's insistence on living here.

Then he might just leave the rest of the town to figure things out for themselves. Idiots, the lot of them.

Bones cracking as he sat up, he winced. The morning after night like the last were always the worst.

Shifting out of bed, he carefully changed his clothing, careful of his bruises, and started to make his way down the stairs.

There was nothing special about his home, in fact, it was beyond ordinary.

If you considered random experiments on the floor ordinary, that it.

He grinned to himself at that thought, after all, there had to be some perks about living with ghost hunters, and the extra experience he got with the equipment more than covered that.

When it was not pointed at him, that is. But ignoring the semantics, it was a fairly good deal all things considered.

So he tried to convince himself, at least.

Looking at his parents briefly, he almost winced when he saw their disappointed expressions. Schooling his features into a properly chastised wince, instead of a guilty one, he carefully sat down at the table. Just enough to calm his aching muscles, and not enough to set off any alarms with the folks. Practice people, practice.

All X100 hours of it. Per every couple weeks or so.

Expression clouding slightly in thought, he almost missed the start of the morning speech. Thus dubbed by its ritual occurrence.

"Danny, You really must start waking up earlier honey. You cannot keep on missing school like this, especially if you want to graduate and end up with a good job, like Jazz!" His father pounded his fist emphatically on the table, apparently thinking that would help his point.

His stomach just turned on itself.

Graduating. What a novel idea. And doing so just like Jazz will, inevitably? Well, that was an even greater hoot than the other. Great joke Dad, pull the other.

"Yes, Danny, you really should try harder. I know that you spend a lot of time with your friends, and I understand the need for a good social life, but there are limits son, and you need to find them." His mother went on righteously, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was Tucker and Sam that prevented him from completely failing out of school. Or perhaps they didn't know… But that was impossible.

Taking one more mouth full of orange juice, he finished it off before setting out.

Glancing at his watch, he sighed when it read that he was already 5 minutes late.

Vaguely, he wondered if his parents knew that technically they made him late every morning. Even if he woke up later than he should, he could technically make it on time, barely, if he flew.

Of course, they did not know, and they likely never would if he had a say in it.

Deciding to take his time, as he was already late, he could not help but look up at the sky, and wonder how his life became so… sad.

—

"Mr. Fenton! That is another detention young man!" Sighing to himself, Fanny could not help but think of the monotony of this. Every single day, it was the same.

Every single day, he would wake up late, have the speech given to him by his parents, casually walk or fly to school, and be handed a detention by his teacher followed by a- "… and don't think that you can slack off on it either, because then it will be another day added onto your extensive record." Promptly followed by a:

"Yes sir."

That was that.

Day in, and day out, almost everything was the same.

No one cared to change anything, because no one honestly cared.

Tucker and Sam cared in their own way, seeing as they were stuck here as well, but sometimes it was curious.

Looking around, he could not tell what was off, but something definitely was.

Scanning from aisle to aisle, he looked first from the preps to the jocks, and that was where his eyes stopped.

The chair next to Kwan was empty.

Squinting his eyes, he considered this irregularity.

Quite honestly, it was nothing out of the ordinary, as sometimes Dash missed class to spend quality time with one of the cheerleaders, but today was not one of those days.

It was a Tuesday, and he was almost always gone of Mondays, Fridays, and the occasional Thursday.

Slightly thrown off by this deviation to the routine, he shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes things change. Life would not be life if there wasn't some deviation after all.

Still, it was kind of weird.

Not paying attention to the lesson, for when did he ever, he thought of what may be causing this change.

Dash had been more distant recently, but thus far it had not effected his own routine, whether he realized he had one or not.

He had been chatting with his friends, as per schedule, and he then promptly beat him up after class.

Though, that might give a hint. After all, the last few days, he hadn't been as harsh.

Stopping his thoughts in their tracks, he scoffed to himself.

There was nothing peculiar going on here, and there was nothing to be analyzed. There was a time and place for that, and this was not it.

Closing his eyes in consternation, he tried to focus on the droning words that were coming from the teacher's mouth.

Unfortunately, the ghosts had other plans.

Ah, schedule, how I missed thee.

—

Panting from exertion, Danny pulled up from the side of the street, and tried to regulate his breathing as he made his way down the sidewalk.

The last ghost had really packed a punch, and he was almost certain that one of his ribs was bruised.

Taking in another painful breath, he started to breathe slower.

This was one of the hardest parts of his job. The absolute agony inducing walk home.

After a day's work at school, both of the registered and unregistered sort, he was plum tired.

There seemed to never be an end of it, and he wondered if it was even worth it.

He wondered this every day, and yet nothing ever seemed to change.

Nothing.

Sighing to himself, as he often found himself doing in all too often a frequency, he slouched slightly before hissing and straightening back up. Okay, no slouching then. Wonderful.

Glancing back up at the sky, he gave yet another soft sigh before checking around himself automatically, and when his radar came up empty, he launched himself into the sky.

Changing almost instantly, he gave himself a brief smile.

The sky almost always helped his mood, if not minutely.

This was something that Sam and Tucker would never understand though they may try.

The sky was freedom, in a way. It was bliss in a form that humans as a species cannot comprehend. They may try, just like Sam and Tuck, but they will never be able to experience the wind on their face in the way that one made to fly can.

Though he used to be human, now that he wasn't, it almost made for a sense of liberation.

It was something that he needed with the rest of his life, a sense of balance if you will.

Flying across one of the currents, he let it guide him as it would. Taking in the slight breeze, he let that pull him up before he let himself fall.

It was a rush, and as the wind fell around his face, he pulled so his back was to the earth. This was a gamble, as he really could not tell how close the ground was, but he felt somewhat confident in the height he had gained.

Letting out a gusty sigh, he felt himself gain speed and his body continued to catapult itself down with the help of gravity.

Sensing that his moment was done, he took the reins back and full horizontally before pulling upwards.

The thrill had yet to leave him, and he could not wait to try it again.

Unfortunately, the twinge of his ribs reminded him of his predicament.

Usually, flying did not irritate his wounds, but the ribs were sensitive to free falling.

Looking at the heights longingly, he scanned them for a moment before looking back down at the ground.

The shadows were making their daily journey, and he knew that he would have to start making his way home soon if he did not want irate parents that evening.

He had to show up on time every so often after all, else he become permanently grounded.

Floating back to the ground, he relished the air resistance that he found. Wishing that he could stay in the skies had also become part of his ritual.

His thoughts raced for a moment or two, contemplating what might happen when he went home, and whether it would be any different from any other day. He hoped so.

In a flash of insight, he wondered if life would be simpler if he could simply spend his days in the clouds, unimpeded by the monotonous routine of life.

In a gruesome moment of thought, he wondered if being of fully ghost makeup would be able to get a bruised rib.

It was something to consider during math tomorrow, perhaps.

—

Glancing up from his dinner plate, he watched the flow of communication between his parents and his sister.

Really, it was a rather choppy ride if one were to pay attention to it, which none of them were.

Mom was talking about a certain neuroscience, something that Jazz might have been interested in if she hadn't been sucked into her own book. Dad simply was himself, that being completely clueless that no one was really listening to him blather on about another molecule that used to be apart of a fairly sentient ghost.

Danny's stomach churned at the thought, but he ignored it as best he could, for what else could he do?

That he was so used to these dinners was disturbing, even to him, but he did what he always did. He ate and listened. When it came down to it, there was much to be learned from these dinners, and though none of the occupants of the table were succeeding in their chosen ventures, they all created an illusion of normality, one he was loath to interrupt. So he let it go on.

While his mother was speaking, she was often writing, though he was able to glean some interesting information on the workings of the brain and the body's overall anatomy. Often these talks were from experiences he would rather not think about, but the final results were intriguing enough. Block out the mentions of blood and guts and he was all right with it.

While his father's one sided discussions were rather the worst of the lot, they still were important in their own right as they brought him insight on the new inventions his father was creating.

All of which were probably designed to break him apart just like the now molecularly separated being in the petri dish.

Shuddering slightly, he forced his thoughts to move onto Jazz. His lips turned into a smile at the thought of her mumblings.

Really, she was not a part of this not-conversation. In her own little word, she was occasionally taking a bite of the dinner she had cooked. In between these small bites, she would be talking to herself about whatever book it was that she was reading.

It might have been Dad that she got this habit from, but then again it might also have been from Mom, as she was oft times found doing the exact same thing. Truly, it was impossible to tell where it originated from. Anyone's guess was just as good.

These mumblings were often the most interesting, as they were discussions in and of themselves.

Most times, she would debate certain points, and would even be guided to certain conclusions by softly made inquisitions given by Danny himself.

She never registered where these random thoughts would come from, but she would flow with them well enough.

It was ironic that the only form of conversation made during these meals was one not even consciously acknowledged by the participating party.

Yes, it was ironic, and honestly it was rather funny.

He even found himself smiling from it on several occasions.

After pointing out another flaw in logic to his oblivious sister, he gave a soft smile and turned back to his meal.

It was chicken tonight, simple, but filling.

He would have to thank his sister afterwards, if she would hear it.

If routine would have it, she wouldn't.

—

Glancing up at the night sky, he took in as deep a breath as he could manage.

He had deactivated the ghost shields a while ago, and he couldn't bring himself to turn them back on at the moment.

He almost always had by now, but as shallow as it sounded, the sky was just too clear for the hazy green of the shield to block it.

With every star that he could see, it only cemented his reasoning in his eyes.

Taking an even bigger breath, ignoring the complaint that his ribs offered him, what did they know anyway, he let it out in a huff.

The air was slightly cool, and his breath could be seen in front of him. It floated up, swirling around until it dissipated.

He wished he was up there with it right now.

But it would probably draw too much attention.

Breath after breath, he watched as the air engulfed his heated breath.

He wished it would engulf him the same way.

He shook his head at his thoughts, because he felt he should.

They were useless thoughts really, as he knew he couldn't leave that easily.

There was a reason he went from day to day as he did, though at times he wondered about how sane his actions were.

Day in and day out he would float along, doing what he had to do, and skip out on what would be normal activities simply because he could not afford to be normal.

To be normal was to be human, and that was what he was not.

If only to prove this to himself, he pulled his consciousness inward toward his core.

He had felt it a few times, as he had to feel it out when using his ice powers.

It brought forth a sense of contentment, false though it was.

It surrounded him in the cold of a winter's day, and he could almost lose himself in the bliss that it created.

Feeling that he was about to lose himself, he reluctantly separated himself from the cool bubble.

It was strange how something so simple could define him from the rest of the human race.

This simple little bundle of energy stored inside of him.

Opening up his eyes, as he had closed them during his brief meditation, he let his hand raise above him and he let the power flow from his core to his palm.

There, above where his hand met the sky, a glow originated from his hand.

There was nothing overly spectacular about it, but it was enough to have a smile grace his lips.

It was a show in power that only he could create.

The beasts of the Far Frozen could create something similar, as they had a core like his own, but in its beautiful manipulation, there was no equal.

He smiled again, slightly wider this time.

Yes, it was hard.

God, was it hard.

But he made it through every day.

He made it through, and he did what he had to do.

He looked longingly at the sky.

He wished that he could simply float up there one day, without a care in the world, but he knew that he would have to wait for the universe to collect him.

He knew that there would have to be a fine on his soul, as it had already been partially collected without promise of return, but he would live with whatever life threw at him, he always did.

For he was Danny Phantom, and who was he to deny the universe its irony?

No, he would wait.

Smiling, a true grin now, he sunk down into his room and restarted the ghost shields.

Tomorrow was another day, and who knew. Perhaps this time it might be different.

Probably not, but maybe it would be the day he could finally fly into the sky.

But first, it was time to get the Box Ghost off of his bed.

Again.

* * *

_A.N. - Hey there! Any thoughts, remarks, grievances, platitudes, raging comments, grateful replies, anything which you feel if relevant, drop me a line in the review box down below! I appreciate anything you add._

_I have edited it a bit, so hopefully it flows a bit smoother now than it did before._

_Thanks to those who reviewed :) I really appreciate it._

_To respond to the first three who gave me the honor of their words, here it goes:_

A: A very creative name, that! ;) I really appreciated your words, they meant a lot. The story itself was simple, but the depth was indeed my goal. I am glad to hear that I achieved it in your sight! Hopefully it speaks to others as much. With the update, the words mean that much more!

Thanks again :)

Invader Johnny: Thank you for all of the reviews you have left me on my stories! I appreciate every one of them. In this story, I do not believe that he is resigned to the one he has. He is forever hopeful, and he would take what he could get, but the monotony is wearing on him I think, as it does us all ;) What really grabbed me about this character though, is that he knows what he has and is able to see the greatness in it.

I almost admire my character in that.

It is funny how that happens.

Anyway, thanks again!

TheArtfulDodger: huh… Funny enough, I never thought about it like that! Very insightful.

It does indeed relate though, and that it does makes it all the more interesting.

Danny's day to day life has always intrigued me, and that is partly why I wrote this. When it comes down to it, he really is a normal teenager, but with so many more responsibilities than the average teen does. When the lives of the town's citizens are hanging on whether or not he can keep it together, I can imagine that it would wear on his psyche fairly quickly unless he had some sort of coping mechanism.

Actually, that kinda sounds like a story there.. hm.

Anyway, I thank you for your insightfully reply! I loved waking up to see it :) Always a pleasure.

Thanks everyone again! Woo! Not many of you, but then I really wasn't expecting much with the length of this thing.

May you all have a wonderful day :)


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